


Libro di Foglie

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Past Suicide Attempt, Implied Past Child Rape, Implied Past Non-Con, M/M, Not-evil Riario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Leo manages to convince Riario to leave Italy after the events of the series-ending episode. It’s a bumpy ride, but it all goes right in the end - in more ways than one.





	Libro di Foglie

It had taken weeks for Leonardo to convince Riario to travel with him to a new life away from Rome, Florence, and even Italy. He wanted the man controlled since birth by the will of the Church of Rome and its God well away from that influence. What better place, Leonardo decided, than Constantinople - gateway to the worlds of the East and to many gods, or to none. The Sultan was known to give all religions more freedom than Rome ever would. All forms of art and science were encouraged there, as were scholars. If the city had its own scheming politics, as every great city did, at least they were not the politics of the Popes or the city-states of Italy.

Of course, Riario had refused. A part of him, in spite of it all, still believed he owed himself to Rome. But Leonardo began to convince him that he deserved a choice in the matter; that he was as entitled to free will as any other man - perhaps, after all he had suffered, he was more entitled than most. Leonardo didn’t know if Riario would ever heal, but he knew the man deserved the chance to try.

Still, it was difficult to leave. While Nico had found his place, Zo would still have followed Leonardo to the ends of the earth, as he had already. But he would never accept Riario in any role, least of all that which Leo ultimately hoped for. Riario had come to count on Signora Cereta for counsel and friendship. The partings were painful, but they still had to be, if Riario were ever to find himself in this life.

During the sea voyage they often shared a pallet, but Leonardo had made up his mind that he would never attempt to coerce or guilt Riario into sex. It would come from Riario himself or it would never come. Leo thought he could live with that. What he felt for his tortured companion went beyond the merely physical. Besides, Riario had been conditioned since birth to have no feelings of his own, sexual or otherwise, but to merely serve as a vessel for the desires of others. Who could say if that might be overcome, or if he even wished to overcome it. The memories of his childhood and youth in this regard had to be painful ones he was in no hurry to revisit.

Comfort however, Leo did insist upon. The years of abuse, of extreme physical and mental torture, the lacerated and broken body and soul, these he would work to heal. He knew it was useless to ask whether something was causing the man pain. He would never admit to that. Pain, emotional and physical, was all that had kept him alive all these years. He had thrived on it so long he would have difficulty living without it.

So Leonardo took his cues from body language and voice. When he was pushed or sufficiently stressed, Riario’s voice might slip into something resembling the lower registers it occupied when he was under the control of the Labyrinth. Sometimes when this occurred, Riario would meet Leonardo’s eyes as if asking for help.

Reluctantly and fearfully, Riario allowed the intimacy and allowed himself to be comforted. Leonardo’s body warmed him, Leo’s hands soothed his aches, Leo’s voice calmed him, asking nothing in return. That was more frightening than if the man had expected or demanded sex.

For his part, Leonardo was simply grateful that Riario had begun to let him in and was no longer shutting down at every turn. The man had been broken on the wheel so many times, it was a miracle he functioned at all, and Leonardo knew it.

As they began to settle into a new life in a new world, the unfamiliar and frightening became gradually less so, though Riario at first constantly questioned Leonardo, always in his head but sometimes aloud as well, when he was feeling either very brave or very cared for.

One evening, after they had consumed considerable wine and Leonardo had with his _mani magiche_ worked the pain from the muscles of several old injuries, Riario turned to him and simply asked “ _perché, artista?_ ” Leo gave him a look of affection.

“That’s a question that has many answers, and has changed with time, Giro. I don’t have every answer, and I’m still finding new ones,” he admitted. “The short one is because I believe you deserve it, and because I care what happens to you. Because I believe you’re worth it.”

Leonardo reached out impulsively and gently brushed the dark hair away from Riario’s large, expressive eyes. Although Riario believed he held many secrets from his companion, Leonardo could now read much of his thoughts in those eyes, though he never let on.

“Not pity?” Riario suggested. Leo shook his head.

“No, not simply that. Sympathy. Empathy. Sadness. But never just pity.”

“What I am, what I’ve done. How can you - why would you - care about me?”

“We are only just beginning to find out _who_ you are, which is far more important than _what_ you are. What you’ve done has never been of your own will or under your own control. I accept that, but you haven’t, yet. You still fear yourself.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. What I see - what I have always seen - I’m not afraid of. And I trust that you are intelligent enough to come to value yourself for the right reasons, in time.”

“What do you see?” Riario asked softly. “I cannot imagine seeing anything but darkness, or why it would matter to you. Why I would matter to you. You should have been well rid of me months ago.”

He wasn’t ready to acknowledge the answer but still needed to ask the question. It gave Leonardo hope.

“Darkness yes, but there is darkness in me too. There is that in every man. I see a fierce intelligence, a curiosity and desire for knowledge that equals my own. As to the rest, who can understand such things? Are we meant to understand them? I care about you because…I do,” Leonardo told him.

“Equal to you, _artista_? No.” Riario shook his head sadly. “Never. And I bring only pain and death to all who have known me.”

“Every artist does not master the same art, Giro. What a boring place the world would be if that were so. We are all unique, with our own gifts. I could never have survived all that you have survived. Your will to live is very powerful, in spite of everything you have suffered. I would have given up.”

“But I did. I would have taken my life. I tried.”

“Once. But you didn’t try again, even after things got so much worse. Why?”

“Perhaps,” Riario whispered, “I hoped against hope to be rescued.” His face was suddenly impossibly vulnerable in the firelight.

“I’m not afraid, and I’m willing to take the risk, Giro. Understand that. Believe it.”

It was a near thing that night. They continued to talk, with a look of such yearning on Riario’s face when he gazed at Leonardo. Yet the moment never quite came. It was one of the hardest things Leo had ever done to give Girolamo his time and space, but he did it. And he did not ask why Giro had saved him from the Enemies of Man. He knew why.

Later, when talk was exhausted and so were they from the revelations of the evening, Leonardo had shepherded the troubled Giro to bed. He had cautiously pulled him into his arms, guiding his head onto Leonardo’s shoulder, and held him all night. Riario never woke, and never moved until morning.

                                                                          ***

Leonardo built, sketched and planned. Riario spent his days in the city’s libraries and developed a reputation as a respected scholar of all theologies, gradually slipping past his single-minded fanaticism and total devotion to Rome. His mind opened, as did his soul. Since he needed to feel valued and useful as well as still needing something or someone to serve, Leonardo taught him to use his hands and he helped to build the models and to trouble-shoot. He bounced ideas off of him, engaged in philosophical discussions. One day, Girolamo would come out on the other side and be his own new man, if he wasn’t quite there yet.

                                                                          ***

  
On another evening several months later, as the sun dipped below the sea, Leonardo found himself shivering in the heat. Earlier in the day they had met at a hamam and shared a bathing ritual, and for the first time Leonardo had caught Girolamo looking at him with eyes of desire. He’d tried not to notice, but he had. Whether it had happened before, he didn’t know. Was it the first time, or only the first time he saw? He wouldn’t let his eyes meet Giro’s; wouldn’t let him see the same look in his own eyes. Now that he had noticed, he didn’t dare.

As dusk fell and they shared food and drink, no amount of wine or thoughts of cold baths could shut out Leonardo’s desire to hope. Girolamo kept staring at him, thoughtful, almost shy.

“You saw, today. I know you did.” Riario put his glass down.

“I’m not sure what I saw.”

“Liar,” Girolamo smiled. Leo was afraid to say anything.

“It came to me unbidden. It caught me by surprise.”

“Me too,” Leonardo admitted.

“It frightens me.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t-“

“It frightens me because I no longer want to wish it away.”

“It’s…happened before?”

“Yes, _artista_.”

“How - how long-“

“Perhaps longer than you might think.”

“May I ask why you haven’t…acted upon it?”

“Because,” Riario whispered, “I didn’t want anything to change between us.”

_Oh, Giro…_

“The feelings I have for you would not change, you can be sure of that.”

Riario chuckled softly. “But my feelings might,” he admitted. “You’ve fought so hard to free me of my obsessions. I might only change those you fear for another. With the same fear of unworthiness and abandonment.”

“I can only assure you that you’re safe with me. I can’t force you to believe it - I can only hope you will.”

“It is…a bigger leap than those we took on the way to the Vault of Heaven, _artista_ ,” Riario confided. Leonardo’s heart contracted.

“You have never lacked courage, Giro. Not once since I’ve known you. But it is your decision alone,” Leonardo told him.

“No,” Riario shook his head. “It cannot be mine alone, don’t you see? If it is mine alone, it will not happen.”

“There hasn’t been a moment since I asked you to journey here with me - hell, since I met you at the damned ball - that I haven’t desired you. Desire…love…with you it’s one, Giro. I love you and I want you, but it needs to be on your terms.”

“Still you don’t see,” Riario sighed. “If I give myself to you, it must be you who takes me - guides me into yet another new world. Then what came before can be truly washed clean and I need have no memory but of you.”

_Oh my God._

“ _Sí amato. Con il più grande piacere.”_ His voice unsteady, Leonardo cupped Riario’s face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly but gently to those of the man he had waited so long for.

Riario moaned against his lips, letting his own part, inviting him in. Leonardo could feel his trembling. He kissed softly at the corners of Girolamo’s mouth, sucked and licked at his lower lip, kissed his chin, the tip of his nose. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a butterfly kiss of dark lashes against his cheek.

“No matter my fear, _artista_ , my want is more,” Giro admitted. “I cannot stop my need for you. I no longer have any wish to stop it.”

Whatever scenario he might have imagined in the past about having sex with Giro, Leo decided on the instant that he would do his best to give the man back the innocent pleasure that had been ripped from him as a boy.

“Come with me,” he whispered, rising and pulling Riario to his feet, guiding him into the bedchamber, where there was moonlight enough to see a little. He quickly pulled off his own clothes before moving to Girolamo. The removal of each article of his clothing was both preceded and followed by slow caresses, his hands roaming and gentling Giro as he might a half-wild young horse, calming and stirring all at once. He spoke soft compliments and the endearments one says to a young, inexperienced lover to raise their passion.

Leonardo rubbed slow circles over Riario’s groin, through the leather of his trousers, increasing the pressure of his palm almost imperceptibly until he felt Girolamo’s organ stirring to his touch. Leo saw him grimace, heard a sad, bitten-off groan, an indrawn breath.

“Giro,” he spoke softly, “it doesn’t matter if anyone hears us. There’s no reason to keep quiet. We’re not doing anything wrong. Cry out, shout - it doesn’t matter. You have a right to your pleasure, _mi tesoro_. If I please you, you can tell me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And,” Leonardo encouraged, “you can tell me what you want - or what you don’t want. You can say ‘no’, to stop me. All right?” He kissed each of the knuckles of the fingers entwined with his.

“Yes.” The voice was low and raspy, as if Giro’s throat was dry.

Whatever he might be responding to, Leonardo was satisfied with the answer. He loosened the laces on Girolamo’s trousers, slipping them down his hips a little, stopping at the top of his pelvis. He kissed along the line of newly exposed skin, brushing his fingertips over the escaping dark curls. When he rimmed Riario’s navel with his tongue, Giro’s hips bucked reflexively and for the first time, he cried out loudly. Leo’s heart sang at the sound. Giro lifted himself off the bed so that Leo could remove his trousers, and finally he was free, and fully exposed to his lover.

Leo’s breath caught in his throat, and his chest tightened. He moved Girolamo gently so that the moonlight fully struck his body, and he drank in the sight. He simply stared, entranced. Dark and light, hard and soft…and his.

“ _Bell’uomo_ ,” he whispered. “I tell you because it’s true, not because I need to flatter you to force you. And you are no boy any longer, but a man I desire. A beautiful, beautiful man. Oh, Giro, believe me,” he begged.

“I cannot…I cannot bear it any longer,” Riario moaned. “Touch me. Touch me and do not stop, _artista_.” He moved restlessly, seeking the stimulation of his lover.

Leonardo lay down beside him, pressing the length of his body to Giro’s. Now his hands and mouth sought to arouse, still with more tenderness than aggression. He could easily lose his way in the smell and feel of this man, believed lost to him more than once.

He moved to expose Giro, hands pushing his inner thighs apart. There was no resistance; he felt Giro’s hands in his hair, heard him whimpering with need. Leo teased and sucked, caressed and squeezed, and Giro cried out over and over again, so loudly that Leo wondered if those in the neighboring house could hear. When he came it was with a half cry of fear, half shout of exaltation. Leonardo then tenderly drained him to softness as he let himself be buffeted by the waves of pleasure that washed over him.

Pleased that Giro had triumphed in his pleasure, Leonardo moved to quickly bring himself off when Riario put out a hand to stop him.

“No! You will have me,” he rasped, positioning his body so as to leave no doubt about his invitation.

“Giro, are you sure? It’s not neces-“

“Don’t be foolish _artista_ , it’s what I desire more than anything. More than anything,” Giro repeated. “You have told me I have but to ask. Don’t make me beg.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Everyone has hurt you.” Leonardo fussed, looking for the vial of oil he kept by the bed. It was for the times he waited until Girolamo was out and he could soothe himself daydreaming about the beautiful creature who actually lay with him now. His hand shook.

“And you probably will as well. It’s unavoidable, _artista_. But it’s what I want - you to have me. You to make me whole - to make me yours.” Giro’s voice was quiet, and calm.

Leonardo leaned down to kiss him thoroughly, running his hands through the dark, damp tangle of hair, caressing his skull. The man was so impossibly lovely he made Leo’s heart hurt. He opened the vial and poured out some oil, coating his fingers. Carefully he pressed into Giro, slowly but steadily. At first he felt the resistance Giro’s body couldn’t control, but after a moment he felt a release and the fingers moved more easily. His eyes closed, the look on Giro’s face hypnotized Leo. That he could be the author of that look brought surprising moisture to his eyes.

“Yes,” Girolamo moaned, moving against his fingers. “Now. Now,” he whimpered.

Trying not to spill the remainder of the oil, Leonardo removed his fingers, spreading the oil over his cock.

“ _Ti amo,”_ Leo breathed as he entered Giro.

“I know.” Giro smiled up at him - a genuine smile of love and happiness. “Now - stop being so cautious and fuck me like both of us want you to.”

Leonardo obeyed, slowly sheathing himself in the body of the man he loved more than anything or anyone. If at first he tried to go slow, tried still to avoid causing Giro undue pain, there came a point where he no longer thought of anything but the rhythm of his release. Giro stared up at his face, lost in his own passion.

As the speed and depth of Leo’s thrusts increased, Giro began a low quiet gasping of his name -

“Leoleoleo.” Not ‘Da Vinci’, not even ‘ _artista_ ’, but his name. The sound brought him hard to his climax, spilling himself deep inside Giro, who groaned in triumph, hands clawing at Leonardo’s back enough to raise small red welts.

When the had both finally recovered their breath, Leonardo moved to withdraw but Girolamo quickly locked his legs around his back so that he could not.

“All right. All right,” Leo smiled, lowering himself slightly so that some of his weight fell onto Giro. “As long as my arms hold out.”

Soon enough, though, weariness overtook Girolamo and his legs relaxed to release Leo, who slipped out of him to lie down and pull a sleeping Giro into his arms. Leo didn’t stay awake much longer himself, but long enough to grin in the darkness at the joy he felt not simply at his own pleasure, but at how far he and Giro had come together. He smiled because there was a ‘together.’

                                                                             ***

Leonardo woke to the sun in his eyes. He was half afraid the night before had been a dream, but he felt the solidness of Giro’s body curled around his and was immediately comforted by the reality. He stretched, and Giro’s head came to rest on his belly. He gently threaded his fingers through his lover’s beautiful thick hair, petting softly.

  
“Do you think, Giro _mio_ , that we will ever find all we seek? Our own Book of Leaves?” he mused quietly.

Girolamo Riario laughed, the happy sound reverberating against Leo’s flesh.

“You are my Book of Leaves, Leonardo Da Vinci,” he confided, one hand moving stealthily between Leonardo’s thighs, “and I seek no other, for it could not possibly give me any more than you have given me. Wherever you want to go, I will journey with you, but I ask nothing more of God in this life or the next than you, my _artista_. You are enough; you are All to me.”

That God, thought Leonardo, who I don’t believe in, has answered the prayers I didn’t know I’d made until this moment. He put us both through Hell on Earth and then gave us to each other. It has a strange sense of logic.

He would think more on it later, but just now Giro was about to have him for breakfast; everything else could wait.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Came very late/after the fact to this fandom. The slash hits you over the head with a mallet and the opportunities for glorious canon h/c abound. I badly needed to give our much-abused Count a happy ending. Struggled with them essentially going to live among the Turks, but almost anywhere else, especially in Europe, the Church would either want to Still use Riario or kill him.  
> Italian lesson:  
> Mani magiche - magic hands  
> Perché - why  
> Sí amato. Con il più grande piacere. - Yes, my love. With the greatest pleasure.  
> Mi tesoro - sweetheart  
> Bell’uomo - beautiful man  
> Ti amo - my love  
> And of course Libro di Foglie is Book of Leaves


End file.
